In Neverland, the skies are blue
by sinnerwithafuture
Summary: Peter Kirkland is the boy who will never grow up. He's not a nation nor an adult, and he learns that he doesn't want to be either one if it means what everyone else makes it seem to. As the world ends slowly, he can only sit and watch as what he thought was set in stone comes unglued.


**Warnings: **character death and subject matter

**I don't own Hetalia, and I'm not making a profit.**

* * *

Sealand gets along with Canada pretty well, once you get past that time he tried to impersonate him to get into a meeting. Matthew calls it a 'cute' attempt to gain recognition.

"Seriously, Peter?" he says. "Why on earth would you pick me? They at least notice you. I'm just sort of there."

This is a valid point, but Sealand still doesn't appreciate being called cute in any context, so he thanks Matthew for the tea and goes home early.

* * *

Sealand continues to scheme his way into meetings, which is where he hears the phrase "global pollutant crisis" for the first time. He asks Sweden about it later, when they're at the park, and Finland is buying him an ice cream.

He is told, after a very long pause, that the toxicity in the world has reached such a high that the nations are being affected physically in ways that were irreversible. He says this slowly, eyes watching his 'wife' linger at the ice cream stand for longer than necessary, then dawdle on the way back over, clearly preoccupied with texting someone.

Peter watches too, noting the genuine smile on his surrogate mother's face, one that neither he nor Sweden has been able to bring out for years. "So we're dying." Sealand states, legs pumping ever faster in order to keep swinging higher as he looks between his parents and understands that people and nations aren't the only things in their twilight.

Sweden blinks, not having expected Peter to understand the gravity of the situation. He sighs, wishing he could've somehow spared his son's worldview. "Slowly." he mutters.

Finland finally arrives, handing Peter his ice cream cone without a word, eyes still glued to the phone. It's the wrong kind, but he eats it anyway, warily eying the space between his parents. He knows it's his imagination, but he swears he can see a darkness that wasn't there before.

* * *

Allistor is the only brother besides England that Sealand actually likes. He's rough and independent, and he doesn't give a rat's ass what anyone else says. He's a nasty drunk, worse than Arthur because he gets violent at times, and he smokes too much, but Peter likes him just the same. Allistor was the one who helped him pick his human name.

"Ya ought ta be called Peter." he'd mumbled, offering Sealand a drag from his cigarette.

Sealand declined it with a wave of his palm. "That's illegal in my country. Why Peter?"

"'Cause you're the boy who'll ne'er grow up."

Sealand opened his mouth to protest, but Scotland shook his head. "Look at yerself, Sealand. Even if ya become a real nation, which I still d'nae ken ta be a good idea, since Arthur'll take ya over in a heartbeat, ya're young at heart."

Secretly, Sealand thinks Scotland was just proud of his country's best known literary creation, but it's suiting just the same so he rolls with it, and, all these years later, he's still Peter Kirkland.

* * *

England is the first person that Sealand actually knows on a personal level to be visibly affected by the pollutants. It's a Friday night, and Sweden is out, so Peter's at England's, watching one of America's horror movies on the telly. He isn't really enjoying it, as it has excessive gory bits and too many shots of the teenage girls' cleavage, which he understands should intrigue him but only serve to make the movie even duller. He's come to understand recently that girls will never interest him that way.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of somebody retching their guts out, so he pauses the movie, jumps over the back of the sofa, and heads to the kitchen, where he assumes Arthur has simply put too much salt in his soup again, or something.

His assumption turns out to be very wrong, because not even England's cooking makes people blow chunks with blood in them. "Arthur?" he questions, watching with abject horror because that is his brother who is puking and shaking and kneeling in the vomit, unable to stand, his face a pale shade of green.

And the worst part is there's nothing practical to do. He can't very well call the emergency services on his phone because they are nations and that just complicates everything. He decides to do what first comes to mind, and that is to slip off his stockings and tip toe into the kitchen to rub England's back.

England either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

* * *

Latvia is the first one to notice, or at least the first one to say anything.

"P-Peter, as your older brother-like figure, I believe it's time we had a talk." he stutters, beet red in the face.

Sealand laughs at that. "Wot, the sex talk? Few years too late on that one, Raivis. I walked in on England once. God, he's a perv. Knew all sorts of stuff 'bout all kinds of sex."

Latvia rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, I was going to start with that, but since you've already had it, I'd like to talk about your orientation, actually. Have you given much thought to it?"

Sealand ponders this for a good, long moment. "I dunno, Raivis. I mean, I guess I like guys, but there's really only ever been one person that I've liked that way." he sighs. "So, does that make me gay?"

"If you mean England, no. I think that's something else entirely." Latvia mumbles, his suspicions confirmed.

Sealand stays silent for several drawn out moments. Blinking back tears, he sighs. "Then I'm something else entirely and you are going to drop the subject. I don't bring up you and Ivan, you don't bring up me and Arthur, got it?

And, though he knows Latvia just wants to help, the ice in his voice confirms that's the end of it.

* * *

The next time he dwells on the wrongness and hopelessness of his situation is when he walks in on Canada and England. Neither of them notice him, thank god, but, as he silently slips out of Matthew's house and walks back to the bus stop, he realizes he has never felt so alone or betrayed.

And he knows that doesn't make any sense. England has never been his, and why would he be? England barely tolerates him as a brother. Canada doesn't know how he feels. He is being selfish and unreasonable, but, at the moment, it's all he can do.

And he wonders if this is how Berwald felt when he went through Tino's phone and saw the texts and calls that weren't to him.

He shudders at the memory of their fight, eyes swimming with tears. He sits on the bus stop's bench, losing himself to the pain.

Sweden is broken, and Peter would really like to be able to blame Finland, but now that he knows, he finds he can't. It is Sweden's own damn fault he ran away, and his own fault that he couldn't accept all of Denmark, and his own fault he tried to replace Mathias with Tino.

It's not his fault that somewhere along the way Denmark fell in love with Norway. It's not his fault that Finland loves Russia-which he still doesn't get, but if it makes Finland happy he'll let it be for now.

He's left wondering if his parents ever loved each other. He laughs as the cloudy sky finally bursts, and he can just tell that there is more acid in the rain then there was last time he was here, and he knows that Canada is going to get sick now too.

And a large piece of his heart is repulsed to at himself as he thinks that those two bastards deserve it.

The smaller piece is not.

* * *

He goes to Scotland's after that, because he knows if there's anyone he can rant to about what an absolute arse England is, it's him.

It's raining there too, and Sealand sighs because it finally hits him that Scotland's health has always been tied to England's. He knocks on the door softly. When Scotland answers, he feels like vomiting because even though Allistor doesn't look half as sick as he feared, he can see that something has broken him.

The older Kirkland smiles, though it barely reaches his lips, forget his eyes, and lets Peter in. The flat reeks of smoke and looks as though Allistor hasn't left the sitting area for days, if the pile of empty bottles is anything to go by. Allistor doesn't even look sheepish about it, like he normally would.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Sealand whips around and hugs his brother. And, much to his shock, Allistor gets down to his level and hugs him back, turning his head away so Peter doesn't have to see his tears. This snaps something inside of Sealand and all he can do is hate whoever did this.

And he knows what was done. For the brief moment their eyes met, he saw the same broken, emptiness that resides in Berwald's eyes now—his eyes too, he suposes.

"Who." he demands, voice almost quivering with rage.

Scotland looks up at that. "Nae, I shuld be askin' you that, Peter."

The brothers simultaneously bite their lips. After a pregnant silence, Sealand speaks. "We'll say together." he decides.

Internally, they both count to three, then speak, one wincing visably as he squeeks "England!" and the other sounding entirely hollow as he mutters "Canada."

They stare at each other for what feels like hours, not sure what the correct response is. It's not shocking to either of them, but there's a lingering disatisfaction with the other's choice that leaves them both puzzled.

Scotland breaks the silence first. "Ya know, Peter, with the whole world dyin' 'n shit, I d'nae think that ya're stupid rule 'bout drinkin' matters ta anyone."

Peter hesitates, because he swore he'd never drink, never become like his brothers. He wants to be better. No, he realizes, he wanted to be better. Allistor is right, shockingly so. They're all dead soon enough, his parents, Arthur, Matthew, Allistor, everyone. The whole world, everything he has ever known is dying.

So he nods, and, for the first time in his life, Peter Kirkland gets drunk.

* * *

Drinking is stupid, he thinks several weeks later as he wakes up in his room at Matthew's house, head throbbing worse than anything. Then he remembers he was in England before he blacked out and then he remembers why he came to Matthew's and what he said to Matthew and he can't help but run to the bathroom an just vomit.

Scotland will hate him now, he knows it. They swore never to tell anyone about the other's perversion and yet he'd done it. His head screams in agony, both emotionally and physically. It takes an eternity to gather the strength to limp downstairs and apologize.

It turns out there's no need to, because it looks like Scotland and Canada are doing just fine, if Canada's moans are anything to go by.

Sealand leaves. He doesn't know where to go anymore.

Sweden doesn't even get out of bed anymore. Peter's not sure if that's because of his illness or his heart, but it still crosses him off the list. Finland is busy spending his last moments (because at this point no one knows how long anyone has) making up for lost time with Russia. Latvia isn't speaking to him. The last time they had spoken they had come to blows, and Sealand is disgusted with both Latvia and himself for not growing the fuck up and just saying what they felt for once.

It occurs to him he could go see England. He's been informed that England only has days left, if that. He doesn't want Arthur to die alone, he finally decides, and so he gets one of the last boats to take him to England and prays he's not too late.

* * *

He makes it, but as he looks down at England's thin frame and the machines pumping and filtering and monitoring what remains of his brother, he wishes he hadn't. He bites his lip, sitting on the edge of England's bed. Everyone else said their goodbyes, he realizes, and now England probably won't even understand him.

"Hullo, jerk." he murmurs fondly, brushing the hair from his brother's face only for those jade eyes to snap open as his wrist is grabbed by what was once the hand of an empire.

"Peter. You came." England states.

Sealand nods. "Well, yeah. Thought I'd let you go without acknowledging me?" he teases, aching because he realizes that's all he knows how to do.

England sighs loudly, and for a moment they can both pretend that this isn't happening. But reality seeps back in as Arthur speaks. "You look well." he accuses.

And Sealand realizes with a jolt that not only does he look well, he is well. "I'm not sick yet." he admits.

England scoffs. "You're not going to be sick, twit. We're dying because our lands are. You've lost citizens, we all have. But I built you to last, I'm afraid."

Sealand ignores this. "I'm sorry, for..." he trails off, chewing his lip in thought. "Us." he decides.

Arthur shakes his head, a labor in and of itself. "No, don't be. I'm the elder brother, you were my responsibility. I shouldn't have pawned you off, and I shouldn't have ignored you. You deserved my respect, if only for being so damn persistent."

"I love you." the words leave Sealand's mouth before he's even done thinking them, and England chuckles, a soft, tired smile gracing his face.

"I know." And then he's gone. Sealand doesn't bother to call for anyone, because he's too caught up in the mystery of exactly how much England knew.

Eventually, he leaves the body and goes home.

* * *

He's been listening on the radio, and each day, more and more stations play only emergency broadcasts or static. He doesn't know how long he's been there, but he knows how many nations are left. None. Because no one ever acknowledged him, not really, so he's just Sealand, or rather, he's just Peter. He hopes that Scotland and Canada are still together, even if they are dead. He hopes Sweden got up and looked at something beautiful at least once more before he died. He hopes Latvia didn't die hating him. He hopes Finland found whatever he was looking for with Russia. He hopes that somewhere out there England understands now.

He wonders how long it will take for his fort to fall apart. Years, probably, he concludes. But it will fall apart, he's decided, because thinking otherwise will drive him even crazier.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and sighs.

"To die will be an awfully big adventure."


End file.
